I laid her down, rolled her onto her belly. Located the pair of thumbcuffs.
Snapped one end of the cuffs to the handcuff chain between her wrists, and
grabbed her ankle-cuffs, pulling her ankles up, bending her knees. She grunted
in pain as the metal bit into her flesh. I attached the other end of the
thumbcuffs to the chain between her ankles. This resulted in a most wonderfully
strict yet simple hog-tie. I laid her on her side, so she could breathe
more easily. I indulged myself in a few moments of just looking at her.
She moved once, testing her steel bonds, and squealed in pain. Then a few
more slight movements, settling into that least uncomfortable position.
I noticed her legs were still taped together above the knee. Liking the
way it looked, I decided to leave it. She was looking at me. Fear, pain,
anger fought for dominance in her eyes. Also the question: Why?
I climbed out of the truck's bed, locked up the canopy, and returned
to the driver's seat. I wanted to get her to my place, where her question
would be answered. That feeling of sweet anticipation returned as I rejoined
the traffic on the freeway, and stayed with me all the way home.
Her struggles are diminishing. She is beginning
to sag into her bondage, her head is drooping, she must be getting tired,
poor thing. She needs stimulation. I reach over and suddenly remove one
of the clothespins. The fresh rush of blood into her deprived nipple causes
unexpected pain and she jumps and twists with renewed vigor. Her smooth
muscles bunch, flex as she works at the ropes. She shakes her head back
and forth, side to side, chewing at the gag that stretches her lips tight,
trying to push it out with her tongue. I am nearly swooning with need for
her. I can wait no longer; it is time for my hunger to be sated. I rise
and approach her sweating, straining body.
She freezes when she hears me coming. She is trembling, and lines of
worry crease her forehead above the blindfold. I remove the blindfold, and
she blinks in the sudden light. I pull her hair at the back of her head,
forcing her eyes up to meet mine. I love the pleading look in her eyes,
the way her saliva has soaked into the length of her gag. I release her
hair and step around behind her. She feels me loosening a knot at her wrists,
and perks up a bit; but I have of course bound her such that I can remove
her from the chair without untying her hands. I do so, leaving a length
of nylon rope hanging from her bound wrists like a leash. I remove the ropes
binding her upper body to the chair, then pull her arms upward, forcing
her to stand. She grunts, grimaces in pain.
The poor dear must be quite stiff and exhausted. After all, she has been
bound in one strict position after another for several hours. It was late
afternoon when we first got acquainted and it's after 9:00 now. Leaving
her standing, I release her legs from the chair. Then I pull her wrist-leash
between her long legs, making a crotch-rope that I can use to lead her around.
Her skirt is bunched up around her hips. I pull on the crotch-rope, forcing
her to follow me down the hall to my bedroom. When she sees where she's
going she finds a second wind, struggling and trying to pull away, even
though she must have realized by now that this was coming.
I pick her up and toss her onto the bed. Of course, the bed is a large
four-poster. A good, sturdy, wooden four-poster, not one of those cheap
metal-frame ones you see these days. The head- and footboards are made up
of many smaller versions of the large posts at the corner. And I have added
eyebolts to the wooden frame along the sides of the bed. No shortage of
things to tie my guest to.
She is trying to fight, but I am on top of her, pinning her legs to the
bed. I have already placed a supply of goodies within reach. I grab a length
of nylon cord and tie it around one of her ankles. She is crying again,
trying to scream through the large cotton knot in her mouth. I bind the
end of another piece of rope around her other ankle. Now I tie the free
end of one of her ankle-ropes to a corner post. I repeat this action with
her other ankle and the other corner post. Her legs are now spread-eagled
wide to the corners of my bed, her hands still bound behind her. She is
sitting up, shaking her head against her gag, twisting, writhing in her
restraints, begging me with her eyes not to do this. I can't believe she
doesn't realize she is only spurring me on.
 She tries to scream again when she sees me pull a pair of scissors from
a dresser drawer. I gaze down at her, savoring that familiar feeling of
anticipation, of knowing that things are only going to get better and better.
She is trying to turn her wrists this way and that, pulling at her bonds,
scrabbling at the cords with her fingers. I climb onto the bed with her,
and fresh tears spring from her eyes. Ignoring her useless struggles, I
cut her skirt from her body. I do the same with her stockings, slowly snipping
them down from her milky thighs to her ankles, then cutting around just
above the ropes and pulling the remains off her feet. Now she's just wearing
her panties.
I decide she needs a new gag. From my bag of goodies I produce the red
ball-gag I used when I first introduced myself. Moving around behind her,
I untie and discard the sopping knotted cloth. I immediately stuff the ball
into her mouth, buckling its strap tight around her head.
I shove her onto her back. I lie down next to her, on my side, and caress
her face, run my fingers gently along the line of her jaw, down her neck,
along her collarbone. She tries to jerk away from me, but she can't move
much more than her head. I brush my hand against her bare breast, and she
reacts as if she's been shot. I smile down at her. Reaching across to her
other nipple, I remove the remaining clothespin. The pain causes her to
buck and jump in her bonds. She cries out. Spittle flies out from between
her teeth and the rubber ball. Her eyes squeeze shut, she arches her back.
As the pain subsides, she relaxes a bit, but she's still kicking her feet,
crying with fear and frustration. I can see her arm muscles working. Even
with the weight of her body pressing on her bound wrists, she's still trying
to work at the ropes. Futile of course, but the sight of her straining body
sets me afire.
Taking up my scissors again, I turn my attention to her panties. She
shakes the whole bed with her struggling as I snip them off and toss them
aside. More saliva comes from her mouth as she mews and grunts vain protests.
Her eyes snap at me. At last, her fear seems to be subsiding. Knowing she
cannot prevent what is about to happen, her terror retreats; anger and hate
move to the forefront of her emotions. She still struggles, but there is
a different tenor to her movements now. A few seconds ago, if she could
have gotten loose, she would have run away. Now, if she gets loose, she'll
kill me.
God how I love this. Her hair loose and spread out on the bed. Her eyes
blazing fire at me. Her breasts jiggling with her movements. Her body arched
slightly by her arms bound under her, her chest heaving with her ragged
breaths. Her soft belly. Her pubic hair, fine and curled, the same light
brown as the hair on her head. Her long, silky legs spread wide, moving
and flexing with her struggles. And at last, the maddening treasure between
her legs. Her flesh darkens a bit on the mound of her outer labia, and her
soft, wrinkled inner lips peek out between them.
I stand beside the bed and remove my clothes, watching her all the while.
Her body stiffens. She bares her teeth and bites down savagely on her gag,
as if trying to bite right through it, or perhaps imagining it is my own
flesh. She produces a sound I can only describe as a growl. She beats the
back of her head on the bed in frustration and anger. She looks at me, then
up at the ceiling as my clothing drops to the floor. She arches her back
again, to give her wrists more room to move as she tries to loosen her bonds.
She twists and shudders. Tries to sit up. Tries to bring her spread legs
closer together. Her breath hisses around her gag. She grunts and strains
at the ropes.
Naked, I lie down next to her again. My erection is painful with my need
for her, but once more I force myself to be patient. I grab her hair at
the back of her head, so she can't head-butt me, and gently, slowly plant
little kisses on her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids, the end of her nose.
I run the tip of my tongue over her stretched lips. My free hand caresses
her belly, cups a breast. Spittle hits me in the face as she grunts her
protests. I smile indulgently down at her. Maintaining my grip on her hair,
I lie on my side against her body, straddling her outstretched leg, my penis
resting on her hip. I let my eye wander over her luscious body, her tear-stained
face. I resume my attentions, caressing and fondling her breasts, her belly,
gently pinching and rolling her ripe, pink nipples between my fingers. Scratching
her, not hard, not even hard enough to leave marks.
I brush her pubic hair with my fingertips. Again the bared teeth, the
hiss of indrawn breath, the growling noise. She tries to dodge my touch,
but movement is prevented by my grip on her hair and the weight of my leg
on hers. I brush my fingers through her downy thatch, not yet touching her
flesh. She moans, spasms, draws large shuddering breaths. I let the palm
of my hand gently, gently come to rest on the soft mound between her legs.
At the same time, I kiss the line of her jaw, the side of her neck, her
slim throat. Nipping her softly once or twice. I release her hair as I work
my way down. My lips, tongue and teeth find her breasts. My hand cups and
presses her warm vulva, begins to make small circular motions. I still make
no attempt to enter her. I take a nipple into my mouth, hold it with my
teeth, run my tongue over it. She quiets, without entirely ceasing her struggles.
Perhaps she is afraid of being accidentally hurt if she jerks around too
much while my teeth are on her. Her body is almost vibrating.
I can't take this any longer. Giving her nipple one last little bite,
I roll away from her, to the nightstand beside the bed. I remove a condom
from the drawer, then position myself on my knees between her legs. We look
into each other's eyes for a second, then her gaze travels down to my erection,
standing straight out between us. She drops her head back onto the bed,
closes her eyes. More tears squeeze out, roll down the side of her head,
and are lost in her hair. I reach under her hips and lift her perfect round
bottom off the bed. I pull her body toward me a bit, and scoot toward her
a bit. I lower her onto my lap. Only her head and upper back are still lying
on the bed now. I'm poised at her sweet portal. I roll the lubed rubber
onto my erection. Taking my time, I rub her labia with my fingertips. Slide
them up and down the warm slit. Gently push between them, introduce myself
to the soft folds within. I am gratified to realize she is quite moist,
no doubt from her exertions. I spread her lips wide and press them back,
revealing her clitoris. I moisten the middle finger of my free hand, and
gently, gently caress it, watching her reactions. She grimaces, her body
stiffens. Another moan escapes her; her legs almost involuntarily clench
as far as they are able. |
Soon, I exited the freeway and drove to a secluded spot I had selected
weeks before. Got out of the truck, opened the canopy, went around to the
passenger side door, and opened it, making sure not to let my guest fall
out. Removing the tape binding her wrists to her ankles, I straightened
her into a sitting position. Stiff from her time spent curled up, she moaned
again. I carried her to the open canopy door and deposited her into the
bed of my pickup.